


Home for the Holidays

by fayedartmouth



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5546684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayedartmouth/pseuds/fayedartmouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Then it's settled," Eve said decisively.  "Everyone heads home for Christmas."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home for the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Librarians. 
> 
> A/N: For @timewarpingavengers in the Librarians Secret Santa. I went for all out Christmas feel-good, so I hope it’s a nice seasonal pick-me-up. I hope you had a wonderful holiday -- and that your new year is spectacular!
> 
> A/N 2: No beta on this one, so mistakes are my own :) Set ambiguously in S2.

"So what about holidays?" Ezekiel asked. "Do we get holidays off?"

A week before Christmas, this wasn’t an unexpected question. December had been a busy month for them, but after recovering their latest artifact, the clipping book had finally gone silent.

And the Librarians had, quite decidedly, _not_.

With all the running around and saving lives and stopping magic, one might think that the Librarians would be too tired to get into trouble.

That wasn’t the nature of a Librarian, though.

Jenkins had forgotten over the years that people -- actual, mortal human beings -- could be _exhausting_.

Yes, yes, the Librarians were brave and heroic and inspiring. They made him laugh, and they gave him a newfound purpose. It was nice to be needed, sure. And they appreciated him, in their own way. He didn’t dislike having them around necessarily, but that also didn’t mean that he wanted them around _all the time_.

Because, as a general rule, they took a lot of work. They were loud; they were needy. They were always asking questions and getting into trouble. Jenkins had to look up answers for them, find the right artifacts and even jump into action when the situation called for it. He had to save their lives, which was something he was quite rusty at.

None of these changes were bad altogether, not that Jenkins would readily admit it, but they had altered the quality of Jenkins’ personal time.

As in, he no longer had any.

And sometimes, that stretched his patience a little thin.

This was one of those times.

With that in mind, he refused to look up. He was good at multitasking. He had practice, after all.

"It's all in your contract, Mr. Jones," Jenkins mused, flipping another page of the book he was reading. Ancient spells in their original dialect. Some light holiday reading.

Ezekiel, in predictable form, pursed his lips, as though he was actually contemplating that fact. Jenkins suspected that it was just for affectation, and that he already had this conversation planned out to the syllable for his own maximum benefit. Ezekiel Jones was often self-serving but never oblivious. "Contract?" he asked with feigned innocence.

Jenkins tilted his head, studying a hand written passage with a bit more clarity. If it wasn’t quite a question, Jenkins wouldn’t quite provide an answer.

"Oh!" Cassandra interjected without invitation. It was a habit of them all; to assume that a conversation was open to everyone, at all times. A reminder that he was never alone. "All major holidays are off, and we get three weeks of vacation every year!"

The account was verbatim. Jenkins frowned, correcting an ancient verb conjugation in annoyance.

"What about hazard pay?" Stone asked from his own book. Rather obviously, he rolled his left shoulder from various injuries he’d incurred on their latest case. Apparently he tried to tackle an energy force by himself before it threw him into a wall. Several times. Or something just as ridiculous. Jenkins supposed he should be grateful Mr. Stone hadn’t tried to go after it with an axe.

“Has anyone actually tried the health insurance yet?” Ezekiel asked.

“Oh, me!” Cassandra said. She smiled reassuringly. “Good coverage, and no co-pay. Limited network of doctors, though.”

“Well, we like to keep a small group of people on the fringes of what we do for security reasons. Magical injuries can sometimes raise red flags,” Jenkins told them benignly, untangling a complicated sub-verse in his head. “Although most Librarians never use conventional medicine.”

“The demanding schedule?” Stone asked.

Jenkins lifted his head with a small, forced smile. “Somehow I doubt most of them live long enough.” Then he shrugged, looking back at his book. “Besides, the contract is mostly for appearances. We didn’t want the government to revoke our nonprofit status.”

“Wait, I work for a _nonprofit_?” Ezekiel asked, as though this fact annoyed him on principle alone. 

“I imagine it’s hard to account for all assets earned in a year,” Cassandra said sagely. “If you want, next year I’ll calculate your taxes. I’m determined to find a pattern in the tax code.”

“Good luck with that,” Stone said.

“I appreciate a challenge,” Cassandra beamed.

Ezekiel shook his head as if to bring the conversation back to point. Rather, back to _his_ point. “So, that means we _don’t_ don’t get holidays off?”

Eve sighed, looking up from her desk where she was buried in her own work -- no doubt her continued efforts to help Flynn. She was the only one who understood something of the intrusion three inexperienced Librarians could make. Jenkins took comfort in that. That there was someone with an appreciation for quiet and order. Someone who knew the value of privacy and control.

Someone, in other words, who was sane.

Honestly, Jenkins sometimes felt like he’d adopted three stray puppies overnight. Or children.

And Jenkins was far, _far_ too old to be a father.

In this, Eve was his ally. Smart, confident, self-aware. He needed her by his side to keep these three from getting themselves killed and making him crazy.

When she wasn’t adding to his stress levels with insane missions and a complete lack of knowledge on magic, of course.

"It means," she said, sounding impressively long suffering. "That you take what you can get. Clipping book's quiet. There's no good reason for all of you _not_ to take some time. Am I correct, Mr. Jenkins?"

She also had the ability to get to the _actual_ point. Stone was too distracted by knowledge; Cassandra got lost, quite literally, in numbers; Ezekiel was distracted by, well, _himself_.

But Eve had a guardian’s common sense, bless her.

He looked up again. “By all means,” he said. “In fact, I quite encourage it. Take vacations. All of you. _Long_ vacations, and I’ll see you in the New Year.”

Stone’s nose wrinkled up in a scowl. “You just want us out of here, don’t you?”

“A fringe benefit I won’t complain about,” Jenkins said. “You could use some time off; I could use some quiet. I do have quite a bit of work to be done.”

Ezekiel nodded, appearing mollified. Jenkins figured the younger man had wanted to secure some time off, and he didn’t care how or why he got it. “Good,” he said. “There are a few places I’ve been meaning to check out.”

"Oh, a trip?" Cassandra asked, face brightening. "Sightseeing? Where?"

"Not exactly sightseeing," Ezekiel told her.

"Oh," Cassandra said. 

“But I may grab a few souvenirs,” he added with a smirk.

 

Understanding settled on Cassandra’s face. " _Oh_."

Jenkins rolled his eyes.

"Yeah," Stone said, shaking his head with a look toward Ezekiel. "I was hoping to head back home for a bit. Catch up."

"Since that went so well for you last time," Ezekiel pointed out.

"Hey," Stone said. "I have family besides my dad. And friends. And, you know, traditions. I could use a good old Southern Christmas."

Ezekiel made a dubious sound in the back of his throat.

Jenkins had to concur, though he wasn’t going to be invested enough to admit that.

"I think it sounds nice," Cassandra said, sounding helpful. "We've all been so busy here, none of us have had any time to ourselves for a long time."

A very long time, not that Jenkins was exactly keeping track. For all that the Librarians had gotten done in the field, they had kept him from his work in the annex. His first responsibility was to keep them safe, and he would commit himself to that wholeheartedly. But all of this did conveniently overlook the fact that Jenkins had had a very complete schedule before the three wayward Librarians stumbled into his annex. Over the last year, he’d accomplished more than ever in the field.

And less than ever at the annex.

He was behind schedule.

_Badly_.

All he wanted for Christmas this year was some time for himself.

Just a little.

He eyed the motley bunch surreptitiously.

Or a lot.

"Then it's settled," Eve said decisively. "Everyone heads home for Christmas."

Cassandra clapped her hands in utter delight while Ezekiel grinned like a fox in the henhouse. Stone, for inexplicable reasons, grunted his agreement.

“Very good,” he said, doing his best not to smile. It would do no good to let them see this was what he’d wanted all along -- going back to his work and turning to the next page in the spell book. "There might just be peace on earth after all this year."

-o-

Christmas was a time for family. A time to gather together, to break bread in unity. Sit around the fire and sing Christmas carols, roasting a turkey all day long for a massive feast at home with all the trimmings. The only time of year when everyone in Western culture battened down the hatches and focused on what really mattered.

The only time of year when everyone was _home_.

So you know where they weren’t?

They weren’t at banks; they weren’t at secured financial institutions.

And they sure as hell weren’t at museums.

Ezekiel grinned, shimmying down the air vent of the Louvre. The building had closed early for the holiday with no more than a pair of security guards to manage the Christmas Eve shift. Minimal security staff in the building meant that all Ezekiel had to do was circumvent the automated system, outwit the central security system and work his magic.

Magic, of course, was relative. He knew what real magic was and even though the rest of the Librarians didn’t want to acknowledge it, he was pretty sure that what he did counted as magic.

He was that damn good.

Making a hard right, Ezekiel took the air vent down the hallway. He had the floorplan memorized, to the point where navigating via air vent actually wasn’t that hard. A bit of a tight fit, but Ezekiel had learned how to make himself small, how to pad lightly so as not to clatter or clang, and mostly, if anyone could pull this sort of thing off with style, it was him.

He paused, checking his hair in the metal.

Oh, yeah.

It was definitely him.

When he came to the right room, he worked at the grate. He had already masked the security system for this part -- motions sensors wouldn’t be a problem -- and frankly, he was looking forward to working with the laser grid. His time in the Library was making his rusty at the things that _really_ mattered in life.

Aluminum foil, chewing gum, and some impressive gymnastics, and Ezekiel was there.

Some thieves, they made the mistake of going too big all the time. Sure, Ezekiel could have gone after the most famous pieces, but Ezekiel didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. No, this job -- this was his Christmas gift to himself.

And the gold, jewel encrusted dagger that dated back to Roman times?

Would be the gift that kept on giving once he fenced it.

Of course, there was still the pressure sensitive mount to contend with.

But who was Ezekiel kidding?

That took him, like, ten seconds.

He really _was_ slipping.

But, holding it in his hand, his smile faded. The rush of accomplishment passed him quickly, and he was confronted with a strange sensation. A _disturbing_ sensation.

This wasn’t as good as he wanted it to be.

That wasn’t to say that the challenge wasn’t good enough -- the Lourve! -- or that the payout wouldn’t be sufficient -- not that Ezekiel _needed_ money -- but those things, those weren’t the real reasons Ezekiel did what he did. This wasn’t just about status or money. It was about how the status and money made him _feel_.

And this?

This didn’t feel like anything.

The stakes weren’t high enough; the mystery wasn’t deep enough; the payout wasn’t quite the same.

And, maybe most tellingly, there was no one here to appreciate it with.

Ezekiel had made a name for himself by _not_ making a name for himself. In the age of the Internet, anonymity was a priceless commodity. No one could do what Ezekiel did. Sure, people could hack systems and break into places, but they couldn’t erase their presence entirely. That was why other people got caught.

No, Ezekiel Jones, he worked alone.

Except he _didn’t_.

He’d grown accustomed to Cassandra’s crazy math and Stone’s endless rants about art and history. He’d come to count on Eve’s quick thinking when danger presented itself and Jenkins’ grouchy face at the end of every mission.

Because they went on missions, not jobs. The clipping book didn’t send them on jobs. It was a mission, the whole damn thing, and the Librarians?

Well, they were a team.

They were annoying and they were frustratingly old fashioned and they weren’t cool at all and they certainly didn’t appreciate Ezekiel the way he deserved to be appreciated.

But, they were his team.

All the things Ezekiel had stolen in his life, and he’d never gotten his hands on something like that.

Which was the problem, of course.

He could steal the rest of his life, and it’d never get him what he wanted exactly.

No, what he wanted -- what he really wanted for Christmas -- wasn’t something he could take or steal or hack.

It was just something he had to accept.

Sighing, he put the dagger back.

“Maybe next year,” he said with a fond nod at it as he reactivated the pressure plate. He stepped back, grinning as he offered the dagger a mock salute. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have somewhere else I need to be.”

-o-

Of all places on Christmas Eve, Cassandra was in a waiting room.

It was a nice waiting room at least with well used architectural features and a proper allotment of space per person in the waiting room. Someone had thought about it, Cassandra knew within minutes, because the precise calculations for the floor space were perfectly aligned to maximize the comfort and afford the staff space to work.

Also, there was a Christmas tree!

With lights!

 

Someone had turned it on, even though there was almost no one in the office. On Christmas Eve, they were probably only accepting emergent patients, but apparently Cassandra Cillian was a special case.

Not as special as white lights and snowflake ornaments, though.

Honestly, someone had outdone themselves on this tree. Clearly, this office catered to high end patients because the tree topper was made from actual porcelain.

And that poinsettia in the corner! And the collection of snowmen on the desk!

That was exciting enough that Cassandra could almost forget why she was here.

_Almost_

It was sort of hard to forget when you were in a neurology office.

And when your parents were texting you _every five minutes_ to ask how it was going.

As if on cue, her phone pinged again. She almost didn’t check it, but she didn’t have anything else to do. Nice neurology office with a Christmas tree or not, it was still a doctor’s office. Waiting was just part of the process. Cassandra would know.  
__  
Hey, sweetie. Just making sure it’s going okay. Don’t forget to mention our names! Dr. Allison is a friend! She’s doing us a huge favor.  
  
A friend.

Cassandra did her best not to roll her eyes.

Dr. Allison was a friend they had probably actively cultivated and nearly stalked because of her specialty, all in hope of finding Cassandra a miracle. It was the same way they’d scouted out the best schools and the most exclusive clubs. Their unbridled tenacity to make Cassandra the best.

In theory, that was what loving parents did. And Cassandra knew -- she did -- that they loved her.

But…

She tapped her fingers on the side of her phone, restless.

But Cassandra didn’t need them to coordinate her life for her. She had things together now; she knew what she was and what she wanted. Cassandra was happy, not that they had ever thought to ask her that.

They asked her about her headaches and her nosebleeds and her latest scans.

But never once did they ask if she was happy.

No, they saw her tumor.

Her expiration date.

Honestly, it had always been like that, even before the tumor. They’d always reduced her to one, simple thing and clung to it as though it explained everything else. She was their daughter, the math genius. Their daughter, the cancer diagnosis.

They were afraid, of course. Because they didn’t understand.

See, Cassandra Cillian, she literally had nothing to lose. Cassandra didn’t want to die -- no one did -- but she wasn’t dead yet.

That was what the Library had taught her, what it had shown her. When she’d been holding the cure to her disease, it had become so clear to her. Magic could save her life.

But it could also save her soul.

She knew which one mattered more.

That realization -- that choice -- was the most important one of her life. It was, perhaps, the only choice she’d made for herself -- ever. Because instead of waiting to die, Cassandra chose to live. Cassandra was alive. She was doing math, she was discovering magic, she was making the world better, _safer_. 

She was making friends.

She was meeting people who didn’t see her as a diagnosis. She was building relationships with people who understood that she still had so much -- so, _so_ much -- left to offer.

Her parents, they wanted to save her life, sure -- but they didn’t have any idea what that meant. They didn’t even know what they wanted to save her life for. They didn’t know who she was. Part of them had buried their daughter the day they put her math trophies away.

Her parents had made her a doctor appointment on Christmas Eve.

She hadn’t seen them in _months_.

That wasn’t what she’d imagined for Christmas.

It wasn’t what she’d imagined for her life.

No, the Library was Cassandra’s second chance at _everything._ Sure, she was still going to die, but at least this way, she could finally say she lived.

She glanced around the office again. The doctor had made an exception to see her today, a favor that probably had come with strings attached. And who knew? This doctor _was_ probably good, maybe even the best. Maybe this doctor would see something the others hadn’t.

Her phone pinged again.  
__  
Will you be home for dinner? I’m making pork chops.  
  
Cassandra made a face.

She didn’t even _like_ pork chops, a fact her mother conveniently chose to forget every year. This was just typical. Her parents couldn’t _see_ her at all, and this doctor -- all she had probably seen were her scans. To all of them, to each and every one, she was nothing more than a tumor.

A problem to be solved.

That was the thing, though.

No one -- absolutely _no one_ \-- was better at solving problems than Cassandra. And in all those year? After all this time? The solution she’d come to was that there wasn’t a problem at all. The only thing wrong with Cassandra Cillian was a growth in her brain.

All the rest?

Well that was pretty much just how Cassandra wanted it.  
__  
Tell us how it’s going, please.  
  
Decided, Cassandra put her phone away and pulled her purse over her shoulder. She was out the door before anyone had a chance to see her go.

Cassandra wanted some time to herself, but she sure wasn’t going to find it _here_.

Her parents, they would be mad. And disappointed. And the doctor, well, she’d never give Cassandra the time of day again.

That was okay, though.

Everything was okay.

Cassandra smiled.

She had a backdoor to find.

-o-

A bar on Christmas Eve with a bunch of half drunk kids getting stupid in the back.

All in all, it was shaping up to be Jacob Stone’s dream Christmas.

At home, his family was cleaning up their Christmas dinner, and his nieces and nephews were setting out cookies for Santa. The stockings were hung; the tree was trimmed. He’d caught up with the old crew today, the guys from work and his old classmates from town. In all the time Jake had been away, they hadn’t changed much. A few pounds heavier; a few hairs grayer.

Other than that, it was exactly what Jake remembered.

Hell, even his dad acted like nothing was different. He’d given Jake a long, assessing look at the front door and let him inside without a single word about the last time they’d met. As he’d kissed his sisters and shook his brother’s hand, it had become painfully clear that his father had told them _nothing_.

All dinner, Jake had to tell stories about the work he _wasn’t_ doing and laugh at the same old jokes they told every year. When they ran out of beer, his father had sent him out, no questions asked.

Jake had complied, just like that. He’d played the good son, ducking his head and walking out that front door like he was still the same man who’d left it all those months ago.

He took another sip of his beer, glancing at his watch. His old man would be expecting him; he’d probably give Jake a good verbal lashing for taking so long in the first place. He had just enough time to pay his bill, let the kids in the back pick a fight, and go back to the Stone family Christmas with no one the wiser.

Sighing, he looked at the last drink in his bottle. He swirled it for a moment, contemplating that last swig. There was no way in hell he was drunk enough to go back.

Not this year.

How was he supposed to pretend? How was he supposed to act like he was still that same guy? How was he supposed to make believe that he didn’t solve the toughest problems and fight the scariest battles? How was he supposed to play the foil to everyone else, the quiet, unassuming guy that was _always_ there?

He’d used to think that meant something. That somehow he could be a better son, a better brother, a better friend if he played the part. He’d believed that giving other people what they wanted was more important than the things he craved.

Except none of it was true.

Because now, home was just a farce. His family didn’t spare him a second glance; his friends didn’t even know who he was. No one had missed him.

That was it, in the end.

No one had missed him.

Because no one had known him at all.

Somewhere, behind him, someone threw a punch. Jake heard it, flesh on flesh, and the shatter of broken glass. The scuffle increased, and by the time the bartender made his way around the counter, it was a full on brawl. A chair splintered next to Jake, spraying him with wood chips. The rest of the men at the bar jumped in until it was a frenzy, just the way Jake liked it.

No winners and no losers.

Nothing lost.

But nothing gained.

Jake finished his drink, pushing the bottle away. He pulled out his wallet, laying down his cash with a generous tip. Ducking a punch, he skirted around the action, tipping his hat as the bartender tried and failed to control the festive violence.

Outside, Jake pulled his jacket a little tighter against the chill in the air. His dad would be waiting for the beer, yeah. But no one was waiting for _him._ Family was more than blood; friends were more than proximity.

Jake’s a damn genius but it took him all his life to figure that one out.

And he knew what he had to do with that truth once and for all.

-o-

The annex was quiet, just the way Eve needed it to get some serious work done. Her job as Guardian might seem to be nothing more than muscle to some, but Eve had grown far too fond of the Librarians under her care to not be a little proactive.

Besides, it wasn’t like Eve didn’t know how to crack a book. She knew that performing well under pressure required a great deal of preparation. Good teamwork and successful execution took time and effort.

And if she ever wanted to get Flynn back in the Library _for good_ , she’d need to figure the whole magical mess out.

Sighing, Eve tapped her pencil on her desk, letting her gaze wander. Her eyes settled on the picture of Flynn on her desk.

How long had it actually been since she’d last seen him? How had the days turned into weeks? She had no way of knowing for sure if he was okay or not, but she had to assume he was alive since none of the other Librarians had been raised up to take his place.

At least, she hoped that would be the case. She wasn’t sure what the command structure was at a magical library, but she had to hope that they’d know if something terrible had happened. She didn’t want to think that she might never know, that he might just never come home. That the days would be more than weeks, they’d be months, years, _a lifetime_.

A lifetime of waiting for someone who may never come.

Eve furrowed her brows, looking down again. This wasn’t her thing. This wasn’t what she did. She wasn’t some lovestruck schoolgirl; she wasn’t some helpless damsel waiting for her prince to come. _She_ was the Guardian, and she was too damn well trained to sit here pining.

But, here she was.

Staring wistfully at a photograph on Christmas Eve.

She closed her eyes in disgust. She _was_ actually pining.

The thought of it, it _should_ have made her skin crawl.

But.

She lifted her eyes again, looking at the picture.

But she loved Flynn.

And that, well, that changed everything.

This job -- it wasn’t just a job. This wasn’t an in and out thing. She couldn’t come up with a plan of attack and march her way through to the end. There would be no briefing to close out her final thoughts. This wasn’t a mission.

This was her life. This job had changed her; this mission had transformed her. These people -- Flynn and Jenkins and Cassandra and Ezekiel and Stone -- they had made her different.

Her fingers traced Flynn’s face in the photo, and she smiled slightly.

They’d made her better.

So, here she was.

Pining for the Christmas gift she probably wouldn’t get.

And somehow, still grateful for the one she already had.

-o-

Jenkins was cataloguing a new assortment of mystical books from the middle ages when he smelled it. Cinnamon with a hint of vanilla. And was that...evergreen?

Putting his books down, he went to investigate, worrying that they had been infiltrated by a pagan spirit of solstice -- again.

Then he heard it.

A sound more unsettling than a pagan spirit.

Christmas carols.

Someone was actually fa-la-la-la-ing.

In _his_ Library.

When he made his way to the main room, he immediately tried to turn back and go the way he came. Because this--

This was bright and festive and joyous.

This was a--

“Jenkins!” Stone exclaimed, holding up a glass of what looked horribly like eggnog. “Come join the Christmas party.”

Cassandra clapped her hands, skipping to him. As he tried to politely shake his head and back away, she took him by the arm and pulled him in. “We were going to come look for you.”

Ezekiel was lounging with a glass of eggnog of his own. “They were going to look for you,” he said. “I was going to sit here and drink a little more.”

Smiling, Eve came closer, holding out a glass of nog to him. “The more the merrier,” she said. “And Stone put in _way_ too much of a little extra in the nog. We’re going to be _very_ merry.”

He glared at her. “I thought we were taking some time apart this Christmas,” he said, not taking the drink, even as Cassandra herded him onward. “Home for the holidays?”

“Yeah, well,” Stone said in that aw-shucks way of his that made it impossible to actively hate him. “I think I realized that I have a new understanding of home these days.”

Cassandra squeezed Jenkins’s shoulders with a smile. “And a new definition of family.”

Jenkins knitted his brows, looking almost hopefully to Ezekiel to share something indulgent and selfish to shift this conversation.

Ezekiel shrugged. “I’m too good now,” he said. “My talent is wasted on conventional crimes.”

“Face it,” Eve said. “All we’ve got is each other.”

“All?” Stone asked, swallowing another mouthful of the thick drink. “Seems like more than I ever had before.”

“I know this is shaping up to be my best Christmas ever,” Cassandra agreed. “And look! Ezekiel got us a tree.”

“ _Got_ is a liberal term,” Ezekiel said.

Cassandra gestured to it enthusiastically. “And I decorated it with lights at just the right distance to create the maximum sparkle!”

Stone lifted his glass. “And I make a mean eggnog.”

“It is _very_ mean,” Eve said, holding the glass out to Jenkins again.

“I -- I mean,” Jenkins flustered. “This just isn’t what I had planned--”

“It’s not what any of us had planned,” Eve reminded him. She shrugged, eyes twinkling. “But maybe it’s better.”

He hesitated, looking at the drink. Then he looked at Eve and Cassandra and Ezekiel and Stone. Home; family; the important things in life.

Funny enough, Jenkins had already had _centuries_ to himself. All the quiet in the world, not a distraction to bother him.

And he was still behind schedule.

He’d probably always be behind schedule.

That was the point, wasn’t it? There were always more tasks to do, but there wasn’t always someone there to share it with. There wasn’t always family.

That was what they were, after all. They were a family, whether he liked it or not, and this was their home.

And today?

Well, today was Christmas Eve.

All his years, and Jenkins had forgotten what that was really about. At its heart, Christmas wasn’t about peace. It wasn’t even just about joy. It was about giving part of yourself, and appreciating what others gave to you. All the myths and stories and traditions, they all came down to the betterment of mankind.

Santa himself had showed them that.

Jenkins, as it turned out, could be a bit of a slow learner.

He sighed, letting the tension in his shoulders relax. “Very well,” he said, taking the drink from Eve. He held it aloft. “To the Library.”

“To the Librarians,” Eve added with a grin.

“To home,” Jake added.

Ezekiel tipped his upward. “To what matters.”

“And to family,” Cassandra said, positively beaming now.

“To family,” the echoed in agreement, clinking their glasses before tipping them back.

A Guardian, three Librarians and a caretaker.

To family, indeed.

Jenkins took another long drink -- with a family like this, he had a feeling he was going to need it.


End file.
